Page 2 of Aries

“It’s nice to meet you.” He let go of me, but I didn’t want him to. “I’d love to hear more about this chaos art. What are you running away from?”

I didn’t even go this deep with my therapist. “I’m not—” His stare almost had me break in two. “I don’t think I’m running from anything.”

“We all are,” he said. “Once you know what you’re running from, you’ll know what you want in life.”

I suppose I was running, my want to be isolated in the middle of space, my internal screams forced out through art. I found myself stumped by his question, and I couldn’t even verbalize any of it to him.

“You seem to have it all figured out,” I said, looking him over. “Do you have any advice for me?”

“Never be ashamed to want what you want.” He licked his lips again.

Was this flirting? I was usually able to analyze a person’s behavior and reduce them into emotions, but now, my emotions were brought into question, and I didn’t know what was happening. “Sounds easy.”

“So, I don’t mean to be forward here, Ash, but I’m closing, and if you’re not here for a tattoo, is there something else I can help you with?” His hand at the zipper, slowly tugging on it to reveal more of the tattoos that covered his torso.

“You have a lot of tattoos.”

He whipped the zipper down and my eyes went through a frenzy, searching for somewhere to rest that wasn’t glaringly over the bulge in his sweatpants. But now that I’d seen it, I couldn’t look away.

“There’s ink on most of my body,” he said, his hand as a guide for my eyes. “This was my first.” On his chest, a circle sucker in pink and green. “It was a dare, and a lucky dip thing this cheap shop was offering. It’s grown into one of my favorites.”

“You—you like suckers, or—”

“Are you offering?”

I nearly choked. Now, this was blatant flirting, and I was into it. “Suckers help me concentrate while I’m painting,” I said. “It’s better than smoking, I tried a vape, but nearly hacked up a lung after a month on one of those.”

He winked at me. “I’m sure we have some in the back, maybe you want to come and help me look.”

In a slow scan of his body, my head appeared to nod.

“Let me lock this so nobody walks in, and I’ll find you something to suck.”

Above his navel in a curved tattoo in large letters. “Daddy.”

Gael’s stomach muscles tensed, flexing the tattoo at me. “If you insist.” He brushed a hand across the letters.

I’d had champagne, I was horned up, and after people pleasing rich folks, I was picking up everything Gael put down. “This—” I said, pointing from me to him. “Is this happening? Or am I imagining it?”

“I told you, don’t be ashamed of what you want,” he said. “And ask the universe and it’ll usually provide.” He bit his bottom lip. “I asked for a five-foot-seven twink, and you showed up.”

“Twink.” I blushed. “More a twunk now, but—wait—” Had I really asked the universe to deliver me with another Daddy? The last one I’d had wasn’t the best. I’d almost given up on experiencing love for myself, instead, I lived through the emotions of my art. But here he was, offering himself up to me. The universe had even labeled him with that Daddy tattoo.

“There’s no pressure, I can take a hint,” he said.

“Are we alone?”

He smiled. “It’s my shop. I’m the last to leave, the first to enter, so yeah, we’re alone. And I don’t think I want to stay flexing in front of the shop window all evening.”

This was my reward for doing a good job today at the gallery. I wasn’t going to be asked twice if I wanted to ride the Daddy train. My ticket was ready to be punched, and I needed a hard, thick, hole puncher. “Ok, Daddy,” I said, pouting. “What are you waiting for?”

“The consent,” he said with a smirk. “You have any hard outs; things that are an immediate no?”

“I’m easy, and my safe word is DaVinci.”

He took my hand with a firm grasp. “My safe word is onomatopoeia.”

“That’s a mouthful,” I said, letting him take me back behind the screens where the tattoo chairs were.

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